


there is no god (if there were, kiyoomi wouldn't be here)

by efflorescent_idiocy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet, Ballroom Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efflorescent_idiocy/pseuds/efflorescent_idiocy
Summary: Miya collapses under his gaze (as he should).Somebody stage whispers, "Ooh, he's fucked."It's probably Suna-san, so he points a finger in his direction, and the snickering immediately stops.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	there is no god (if there were, kiyoomi wouldn't be here)

**Author's Note:**

> allergies are gross. i can't believe that they're stopping me from getting a cat

The only soft thing about ballet is the tulle of the skirts they give to little girls who are just starting out and the smiles on their faces, and even then, that is not always the case.

Ballet is not gentle. There is nothing tender about pointe shoes and spotting and strained joints, nothing soft about the dancers, either, except perhaps for the way their skin looks in harsh stage light.

Kiyoomi is not soft. People have told him he's elegant, graceful, beautiful even, but he is not soft, and he doesn't pretend to be.

Miya Atsumu, the ballroom dancer that practices in the next studio over, irritates him before he even gets through the door. Kiyoomi doesn't know how he wins competitions with that ugly mop of hair.

Motoya laughs and asks if he's ever seen one of Miya's competitions. He hasn't - why would he?

He hums irritatingly and leaves.

That night, he finds one of his competitions on Youtube. It's a waltz, and as he watches it, all he can think is that it's soft. It's definitely hard work, but there's barely a scrap of life in the dance. It's all fluttering fabric and high heels - he can only think that this waltz has hardly any of the unyielding agonies he loves in ballet.

He watches a salsa next, and - well. This one is a little better. There's less of the flowy fabrics and more dramatic pauses, but knowing Miya, that is to be expected anywhere possible.

The final video is a tango, and in that one, Kiyoomi can see a little of the reason Miya chose ballroom dancing. The appeal is not in stretching and fluorescent lights like ballet. It is, perhaps, in the beat of the music, the click of shoes on hardwood floors, the awe at perfect footwork that took hours to perfect.

There is nothing gentle, nothing soft about that tango. Whatever one might see is merely an illusion Miya creates.

Kiyoomi watches and decides, grudgingly, that the lead is a role that suits Miya. He hates to feed his ego, but he looks at home, guiding his partner exactly where he pleases.

While they're stretching that night, Kiyoomi says, "I guess I understand now."

Motoya just hums smugly, like the rat bastard he is.

In retribution, Kiyoomi has him stretch two centimeters farther than usual and smiles when he complains of soreness.

* * *

That week, Miya stops in to catcall Kiyoomi and bother the rest of the studio, like he always does when he figures out there's a rehearsal - roughly once every two weeks. He suspects Komori is leaking information.

"Omi-kun, you should stop by when we have practice," he teases. "I'll teach you a thing or two."

Kiyoomi stops, considers the precise footwork to perfect and the satisfying click of heels on wood.

"Okay," he grits out, working out a tricky jump.

The entire room freezes. Atsumu's mouth is hanging open. Everyone is staring at him. Someone curses quietly and attempts to discreetly hand Iizuna-san a few bills.

"Is this a hallucination?"

Suna-san, who had also stopped in (most likely for the food, which he was not supposed to take) seemed to be even more surprised than Miya.

Kiyoomi frowned. Perhaps they thought he was accepting Miya's disgusting _advances._

"The footwork training will help with my jumps," he clarifies.

Everyone sighs, relieved, and the room starts to move again.

Miya, being Miya, loudly complains _(when does he not?)._

"Omi-Omi, I thought you finally gave in and wanted to try ballroom out, not that you'd take advantage of me to improve yer ballet," he whines.

He pauses at that and gestures at the music boy (he still doesn't know what his name is). His music shuts off, and the chatter starts to dry up. This is where he'd usually kick Miya out, and he always sticks to routine.

"Miya-san, do you know why I do ballet? Have you ever used even a single brain cell to wonder why I ruin my ankles every week?" he asks, coloring his words with scathing scarlet to let him know just how much he's fucked up.

Miya collapses under his gaze _(as he should)._

Somebody stage whispers, "Ooh, he's fucked."

It's probably Suna-san, so he points a finger in his direction, and the snickering immediately stops.

"...No," Miya admits.

Somehow, this is equally as irritating as when he's being smug (who is he kidding? Miya is always annoying).

"I'd tell you to consider common sense before you let stupid things out of your mouth, but I already know you won't. Also, rehearsal ends soon - get back to your own studio."

The look Miya gives him tastes acrid on his tongue and bitterer down his throat.

Suna-san sighs and drags him out.

Kiyoomi sighs contentedly. What would he do without Suna-san?

* * *

On Sunday, his least favorite rest day, he pulls out his dance bag and heads to the ballroom studio, two doors down from the ballet studio.

The sheer stupidity occurring when he opens the door must mean it's not the right studio. One of the dancers stops, seemingly to invite him in. He slams the door and walks away.

Miya tumbles out of the door.

"Wait, Omi-kun! That's our studio!"

Kiyoomi reluctantly walks back in. Instantly, all eyes are on him, dissecting him.

"Apologies for the interruption. Miya-san bothered me into trying ballroom."

"What's yer name?" Atsumu-with-brown-hair asks.

"Sakusa Kiyoomi."

"You dance," the one who had the rose in his teeth says.

"Classical ballet, two doors down."

Suna-san rushes in and stops at the sight of Kiyoomi facing off with everyone.

"Oh," he says. "I didn't think you would actually do it."

"My footwork has been a little sloppy lately, and I haven't been able to improve at the speed I'd prefer. This is merely an opportunity."

"That hurts, Omi-kun. I could keel over and it would just be an inconvenience, wouldn't it?"

"Then perish. I'll improve my footwork either way."

Atsumu gapes, and the rest of the room laughs, save for a man with pale hair somehow dark at the ends, who simply smiles.

Not-Atsumu is gasping for air on the floor. Suna-san is appearing to have a rather hard time breathing. Someone notices the smiling man and screams, "Kita-san smiled!"

Everyone whips around and pulls out their phones, assumedly to take a photo of this.

He stops smiling, and those who didn't get a picture groan.

"Kita-san," the one with the top hat moans.

"Stop being ridiculous and introduce yerselves. I'm Kita Shinsuke."

They all say their names; Kiyoomi absorbs precisely none of them.

"You guys realize this is Sakusa-san, who took three weeks to learn Atsumu's name and still called him 'the annoying guy with piss hair' for a month afterwards, right?" Suna-san snickers.

**Author's Note:**

> i do things on twt  
> @BloomingIdiocy  
> if you say self-deprecating things i will scold you. no exceptions except for myself


End file.
